The Vatican Rag
by miss selah
Summary: Complete Three stories in one, following the lives of the viruses of The Epidemic. Sex, drugs, drama all leading up to the birth and a relationship! Epidemic fic gratuitous use of OCs Virus Smörgåsbord
1. First you get down on your knees

* * *

**Sin and Thrax**

* * *

The first time Sin met him, Thrax threatened him.

The second time Sin met him, Thrax followed through.

The third time Sin met him, they were fucking.

"You know," Sin licks the equvialent of an ear, whispering in hushed tones so that only Thrax can hear him, even though Thrax is the only one around to hear anyway. "I don't usually put out on the first date."

It's a lie, and they both know it, so Thrax continues to thrust because the little bitch beneath him keeps teasing him, and he isn't supposed to be teased, he is supposed to be _listened _to and _obeyed _and positively _worshiped. _

Kinda like what he is doing to Sin now.

"Shuddup."


	2. Fiddle with your Rosaries

* * *

**Weasley and Hazz  
**

* * *

One step, two, he swears that he hears someone behind him.

Weasley looks up past his blue bangs and sees him, just like he's seen him before, and he swears that he saw him yesterday too. That four eyed stranger that seems to enjoy the exact same things he does; after all, what other reason could he have for following him around everywhere?

"Are you going to buy an ice cream or not, kid?" He buys it, but only so that he can have something to do as he watches him watch him.

He knows he knows he's watching, and it makes Weasley uneasy; more uneasy than being the sole focus of a perfect stranger's attention. It makes him feel itchy, like someone's running hands over his protoplasm, and he feels so awkward that he can't help but say _something._

Hello becomes how are you and before he knows it, they're almost to the beach on what's almost considered a date. _  
_

"You have an awful lot of eyes, Mister." He tells him as he kicks at a rock when they walk beside the beach, hand in hand.

"All the better to undress you with, my dear." Weasley is too young to understand, but that's okay – Hazz has no problem explaining it to him.


	3. Bow your head with great respect

* * *

**Spanning and Salin and Sahbar**

* * *

The streets of Thomas are dark at night, because the immunities know better than to come out here, cars or not, and every time they try to hook up street lights Spanning just tears them down. He doesn't care overmuch for the light, bright or not, nor does he care for the humming sound of fluorescent lights and the headaches that come with them.

He lights a cigarette just to ignore it.

Salin looks over his shoulder, over Sahbar's shoulder, at Spanning. "That stuff'll kill you."

"You say that as though it is a _bad _thing." Spanning doesn't mean it, and Salin knows it. Because Spanning loves it here, with Sahbar and him filling the spaces that should have been empty but felt surprisingly full.

"Bum a smoke?" He asks him, but Spanning puts his out.

"I can think of better things to do. . ."


	4. And Genuflect Genuflect Genuflect!

* * *

**Ach and Lux**

* * *

The streets belong to the virus, but the cracks and corners that look shady but are actually quite pleasant belong to the two of them.

Ach is skipping along, her hair bouncing and he's memorized by the dip of her back by the sway of her hips by her.

"What are you looking at?"

He's too embarrassed to answer, too entranced to look away. "Dunno. . ." He speaks in a mumble to his chest, and she hops over on one foot to him, so damn adorable that he doesn't understand why his friends that all say horrible things about him could say such horrible things about her too.

"You were staring at my ass, weren't you!?" She sounds more amused than affronted, and soon her giggles become a full fledge laugh and she's gripping at her stomach in a vain attempt to hold herself together.

Everyone laughs _at _him, but it's different with her because for a change, he feels like laughing too.

She doesn't like to share, though, and as soon as the chuckles can leave his lips she steals them from him with a kiss.

"You were looking at me, weren't you Lux?"

He's always staring at her; he can't look away and she's so damn pretty and she doesn't even know it.

"Look closer."


	5. Do whatever steps you want, if

* * *

**Ebola and Salin**

* * *

"Please?"

Ebola sighs and glares at Salin. Her eyes are caked with make up, but it covers up the dark circles with a pretty lie, and as long as she's getting away with it. . .

"No."

"Please?"

He's a persistent bugger, she'll give him that. Unfortunately for him, she can be downright stubborn.

"No."

"Please?"

He doesn't even miss a beat! Isn't he supposed to be discouraged or something? Sighing, she concedes in the littlest way possible.

But a kiss on the cheek evolves in to a kiss on the lips, full of tongue and nipping and biting and tastes and teases of the unknown but oh, waiting to be discovered.

"Please?"

Breathless, she nods. "Okay."


	6. You have cleared them with the Pontiff

* * *

**Sahbar and Mister Black**

* * *

Sahbar stares down in to the water, too scared to get any closer, to scared to back away. From the water's depths, Sin stares back at him, and he wants to get closer, wants to taste what sin is offering, but the fear of water keeps him decidedly on the edge.

Salin strips, and Ebola pretends that she's not staring. "Aren't you getting in?" He asks but doesn't wait for the answer before getting in the water himself.

They're all here; all of his friends that should be enemies but seem to be ignoring that fact. It's a nice day in the city of Thomas, and everyone is generally being quite happy.

Aids is sitting by the edge of the water, in full jeans and shirt, glaring. "The water's _dirty, _man, and I won't go in. It's the man's way of trying to get you to conform!"

Sabhar would rather not go over there, and from the way Cino is creeping away towards the water's edge (even though a few minutes ago he swore he wanted nothing to do with swimming either) he doesn't want to deal with her today either.

Animus, full of giggles and excitement the likes of which Sahbar isn't used to seeing on her, jumps near where Sahbar is standing, and to his horror he finds himself soaked to the bone.

Everyone is laughing and playing and splashing, and no one sees him standing by the water's edge, shivering in terror and looking the world like a soaked kitten.

A towel is thrown over his head with such force that Sahbar nearly goes down. He rubs his face briskly before he looks up at who saved him.

Mister Black is standing a few feet away, looking pointedly in the opposite direction. Sahbar smiles and holds the towel closer, taking in his scent with a smile.

"Thank you." He whispers, even though he knows Black can't hear him.

_He's never getting his towel back. _


	7. Everybody say his own

* * *

**Animus and Aids**

* * *

"Animus doesn't like the way it smells." Animus complains as Aids lights up a joint. The scent of iron and blood premeates the room, and Animus finds herself gagging on the potency of it all.

"You don't like _anything, _so hush up." Aids is the only one that Animus really let talk to her that way, because Aids didn't mean it to be rude – Aids means exactly what she says, and she is right. Animus _doesn't _like much of anything.

The smell of smoke and blood hangs between them, and the taste of sex are still in Animus' mouth.

"Are you sure that this stuff is good quality?" Animus is asking because she can't think of anything else to say right now, and if she doesn't say something soon, then she's afraid that any of Aid's attention that she managed to capture would slip away like it always does. Like it always will.

Aid's eyes narrow on Animus, and not for the first time, she feels like she has been laid bare. "You know, Annie, I think you might be a. . ." Aid's struggled with the word. Her eyes rolled to the ceiling and she pouted, her brows drawn together as she tried to remember _what. . . _

"Hot virus?" Animus suggested hopefully.

"Not that. . ."

Animus sighed and took another hit. If she was going to be this miserable, she might as well be high too.

"HYPOCHONDRIAC!"

Animus couldn't disagree with her more, but she's flying too high to care.


	8. Kyrie eleison

* * *

**Hazz and Weasley**

* * *

Hazz lets Weasley rummage threw his things, because he is adorable and there is something possessive in him that loves seeing the boy be possessive too.

"What's this?"

"A cigarette."

Positively adorable.

"What's this?"

"A nudie magazine."

He flips through it, and Hazz prides himself on his self control. He didn't even flinch, trying to jump him.

"What's this?"

Hazz turns an interesting shade of pink as Weasley tears open a condom wrapper, pulling on the elastic in confusion.

"A balloon." He lies and slinks closer.

"Why's it wet?"

"Spit. Thomas swallowed it." Another lie, another inch.

"Thomas did?"

"Yup." He grabs both of Weasley's hands, still gripping the condom, and pulls them a little apart. The boy is in his lap and looks utterly bewildered.

"Now you blow."

They both knew what he meant, and soon the condom was forgotten among his junk that was too old for Weasley anyway.


	9. Doin' the Vatican Rag

* * *

**Cino and Aids**

* * *

Maybe, probably, this isn't what Cino had in mind.

Maybe, likely, it is the large amount of alcohol he had consumed.

Maybe, feasibly, it is the smoke that still lingers in her mouth, the smoke he can still taste.

Maybe, presumably, it is just her.

Maybe, plausibly, he hates her.

Maybe, conceivably, right now he doesn't care.

Maybe, potentially, in the morning he's going to have to kill her so that she doesn't tell anyone that he buried himself in her, that he screamed in ecstasy and she just smiles and pumps and keeps doing that_, oh god, yes, Ad, don't stop!_

Maybe, by perchance, she wouldn't tell anyone anyways.

Maybe, perhaps, she is just as fucked up as he is.

Maybe, possibly, she's better at hiding it.

Maybe, presumptively, they are going to have to do this again sometime.


	10. Get in line in that processional

* * *

**Geoff and Tammy**

* * *

Geoff watches with growing agitation as Tammy filters through her purse, pouting and scowling.

"What are you doing?" He asks, because she's annoyed and he wont be happy until she's happy again.

"I dunno. . ." She whispers. Finally, she throws her purse down in annoyance. "Have you seen my wallet? The last place a pulled it out with at the cyst, and now. . ."

Geoff hasn't forgotten Sin, hasn't forgotten the ruckus he caused at the bar. He storms out without looking twice at Tammy, making a great scene about slamming the door.

* * *

Sin is smoking, leaning against a light post that isn't lit down by the liver, when Geoff finds him.

"I believe you have something of mine."

Sin raises an eyebrow, mistaking Geoff's tone. "Oh yeah? What would that be?"

The first punch connects right above his jaw. The second in his gut. He is in too much pain by the third to remember where it hit.

Geoff returned to the flat shaking his head and disappointed in himself. He couldn't get the wallet back for Tammy, and he had been so sure that Sin would have had it.

* * *

He must have left it at his house. Geoff decides, and thinks that he'll go by tomorrow and try to get it back again.

The lights are off, and Tammy is asleep on the couch.

"Babe?" He says as he rubs her shoulder. "I couldn't get it." Like a puppy who's done something wrong, he lowers his chin to the couch and sighs.

"Couldn't get what?" She asks, still half asleep.

"The wallet." He's waiting for her to yell, to get angry, to something, but she just smiles.

"Oh, I called the bar and the 'keep said I had dropped it. They have it behind the bar and I can pick it up tomorrow."

Geoff blinks hard. "Oh."

"Oh?"

He picks up his coat again and leaves, much more gently this time.

"You going out again already?"

Geoff smiles, bashfully. "Yeah, I owe someone an apology." Before he can leave, she tosses something at him and he catches it easily. "What's this?"

"Ice Pack." He still looks confused, so she clarifies. "For whatever poor sap you thought stole my wallet."

* * *


	11. Step in to that small confessional

* * *

**Skorpius and Sin**

* * *

Skorpius lingers in the bar, sipping beer in a dark corner. This would be more impressive, she knew, if the bar – however impossible as it was – wasn't made up entirely of dark corners. She could hear the sound of feminine giggling in the corner, Salin's romantic croons. She could scent the smell of blood and sweat and they all felt foreign to her, even though she had been here for years.

"Hey babe, how about you and I go someplace more private?" He's wearing goggles and a trench coat, and his thick red dreadlocks are barely held back by the rubber band.

She's been here, living with the cells and organisms, long enough to know that she was closer to them then she was to the people that she used to know, back when they lived inside of her. His name is Sin, she remembers from a conversation with Thrax, and he's a slut and a cocktease and Thrax wants nothing more than to be buried inside of him.

She tells him so and he smiles, thanks her, and walks away.

She takes another sip from her beer and sighs. "Viruses. . ."

_Probably better than humans. _


	12. There, the man who's got the religion'll

* * *

**Weasley and Hazz  
**

* * *

He hadn't intended to get him pregnant, he hadn't intended to ever create new viruses in the first place. The terror that should have washed over him the moment that he saw life inside of Weasley's belly was postponed, because he's first thought wasn't that the boy was doomed to a fate worse than death – he was doomed to incredibly agonizing pain as the spores that Hazz had left in his body festered and grew before they finally burst free, and then they would live through their germination period off of his rotting corpse, like the scavengers that they were, and then they would live off of each other.

He hadn't remembered immediately, because Weasley's smile made him smile.

He stands out in the hallway, running a shaking hand through his hair and wondering what he has done, what he will do, how can he possibly fix this? When he hears the timid croonings of the boy, the hauntingly loving lullaby that he knows his mother never sang to him.

Daring a peek around the corner, Hazz sees him cradling his fat belly in his arms, and the virus children inside of him are shivering with pleasure. Weasley doesn't yet know that they are going to kill him, that they are going to be his reapers, so his is happy – oh so happy – that he got to create life with Hazz.

Hazz doesn't know how, but he's going to make sure that he doesn't die. For once, he cares about someone other than himself.

It's the cell, he decides. Weasley's wearing off on you.

Surprisingly enough, Hazz doesn't care.


	13. Tell you if you're sin's original

* * *

**Salin and Ebola and Leon  
**

* * *

_  
_"And I'm telling _you," _Salin sounds so sure of himself that Ebola nearly laughs, "That I can get anybody - _anybody - _here."

She sees a flash of blonde out the window and smiles as he makes his way towards the door. "Then get the next person who walks in to the bar, and I'll do whatever you want tonight."

It's an offer too good to pass up, and Salin grins when he sees the new comer. He's lanky and shy looking, and he _knows _he's got this one in the bag. "Better stretch that mouth out, darling, 'cause I'm getting head tonight." He promises her just before he shimmies through the crowd to the bar, giving his hips a special swagger that he reserves only for Ebola, who is watching him through narrowed eyes in the corner.

He is blonde and slender, and he's new to the body, Salin knows. At least, he's new to the cyst, which was the only place in Thomas that counted for much anyway.

Salin slides in to the stool next, making sure out of the corner of his eye that Ebola is still watching, and offers to buy the new comer a drink in exchange for his name and where he got those lovely leather pants.

His name is Leon and he take a puff of his cigarette, and Thomas suddenly has a nicotine craving like he hasn't had in a while.

* * *

A half hour later, shaking and more than a little unnerved, Salin leaves the counter and goes to the table that Ebola is sitting at.

She smiles, because she's already met Leon, and doesn't need to ask because she already knows, but she does anyway because Salin deserves it.

"So? Who is he?" The teasing glint in her eye lets Salin know that she already knows.

"A porn star." Salin sounds dejected, and he pouts.

Ebola laughs and motions over a waitor, and orders him another round. "He's way out of your league."

Salin tries not to cry. He really does.

In the morning, when he wakes up next to Ebola, strung tight and anxious and remembering angrily that it's been _fifteen days since he's had sex_, he blames it on the booze


	14. If it is, play it safer

* * *

**Sin and Carcinogen  
**

* * *

He's a scrawny fucker, with red hair down to there. He has goggles like him, and a coat too. Even their names sound close, but they couldn't be less a like. Still, he's helped him out this evening, getting the immunities off of his back, and so at the very least he owes him a drink.

From the way his smile spreads across his face, Carcinogen is more than a little worried, and Sin, trying to take a page out of Salin's book, tries something he recommended.

"Please?"

Cino narrows his eyes on Sin, being careful not to make any unnecessary enemies. "Sex?" He asks. "Just for clarification."

Sin shrugs and moves in, and Cino pulls out a gun in one swift motion, cocking it and pressing it against his mouth hard enough to crack against the teeth barely covered by skin. "Suck this?" He asks.

Sin smiles and pulls back. "Never mind."


	15. Drink the Wine, Chew the Wafer

* * *

**City of Thomas  
**

* * *

When Thomas O'Brian was thirteen, his father left him and his mother to explore around the world.

When Thomas O'Brian was fifteen, his father didn't contact them for a week.

When Thomas O'Brian was seventeen, his father was declared dead, lost to foreign country or disease or famine or thirst, or any number of other horrible fates.

When Thomas O'Brian was eighteen, he decided that it wasn't enough for someone to just say his father was dead.

When Thomas O'Brian was nineteen, he decided he needed to see the body.

Thomas O'Brian was twenty five when his father's corpse made him a carrier for countless diseases.

Thomas O'Brian was thirty when the doctor's said he had two months to live.

Thomas O'Brian is sixty and coughing, because Spanning is smoking too close to the lungs.

"Sorry. . ." Spanning murmurs, but doesn't mean it.


	16. 2, 4, 6, 8

* * *

**Veriola Vera meets Mister Black  
**

* * *

Staring, always staring.

Dancing, always dancing.

Her legs made an interesting dip on the table as she let some nylon glide up the pale purple of her skin, and Black felt his breath hitch in the back of his throat, threatening to strangle him. Threatening with death, promising something much greater.

"You're staring."

She never looks up at him, and it makes him smile.

"What?" Black asks her, wondering how her waist got so thin and how her legs could do that. "Can't a man appreciate the look of a lovely lady?"

She shrugged, smiling.

"What are you doing in the cyst?" he asks, a different question all together in his eyes.

"Waiting for my next big gig." She tells him, and sprawls herself out over the table in what is supposed to be seductive, but he isn't falling for it. At least, not yet. "You?"

"Looking for my next great dancer." He leaves her with a card. "It's new – it's called the dish, down by the liver. If you want that big gig. . ." He hadn't shed his coat, but he made straightened it with a great flourish.

He began to walk away and she smiled, pressing the card to her lips. "You didn't even ask my name." She reminded him.

He almost told her that it didn't matter, but changed his mind. "Your name?" He requests with the regality of royalty.

"Your next great dancer."


	17. Time to transubstantiate

* * *

**Hasta and Salin  
**

* * *

"Let's play a game."

Hasta doesn't like the sound of Salin's lilt, doesn't like what his tone is implying. She knows that Ebola has kicked him out, for some reason or another, she never was very good at dragging the truth out of him. Come to think of it, she can't think of anyone who is very good at dragging any information out of him that he doesn't want to give.

"What sort of a game?" She asks, because her curiosity is better than he common sense.

Salin smiles and cocks his head to the side, leaning in close – too, too close – and whispers, as though there was someone else around to hear them. "Truth?"

Her brows draw together with faint discontentment as she tries to unriddle something that wasn't a puzzle to begin with. "No dare?"

Salin shrugs. "Oh, there's always a dare involved, but let's start off easy first. What's your greatest fear?"

She thinks about it hard, because she likes to play fair. "I dunno. Dying, I suppose." That was the easy answer. The real answer, the truth that she couldn't tell, was dying and being forgotten. Dying without leaving her mark. "You're turn: why do you hit on everyone, even though you are – were – in a good relationship?"

"You only live once, chicka." His head is lying against her couch cusion, laying dangerously close to her lap. "Why don't you like me?"

Hasta almost tells him that she does like him, that he wouldn't be on her couch right now if she didn't, but she knows that more of a lie than her first answer. "You're. . . sour."

"Sour?"

"Sour." It honest, but this time he has to unriddle it. "Why are you on my couch right now, instead of Ebola's?"

His eyes are sad, and she knows that he's trying to slither his way out of answering. He grabs his coat and moves to leave, but not before leaving her with the truth he promised.

"I'm sour."_  
__  
_


	18. So get down upon your knees

* * *

**Starlight Gelb  
**

* * *

Dark corners are harder to hide in, Gelb decides in an almost animalistically simply way, when you are the same shade of day-glo yellow as he was. He took a hairy hand and shook his hair, as if some of the color would shake out on to the cell tissue walls, but alas, there was to be no reprieve for him. Even in this all consuming darkness, his hair shone like starlight that he, as a virus, could only hope to see in the final moments of life after being expelled from their host. Cells, who were allowed to wander the streets of the face might be so lucky to spend a night or two in the tear glands and catch a glimpse of them, but he would never know that his fur that he so despised was so close in color to something to lovely.

To him, it looked like acid and promised him no camoflauge as the softer tones of his flesh did.

A child, a white blood cell, simple minded in goals, hopped closer to him. He recoiled, growling out his warning, but the cell was too far away to hear him or just didn't care to heed his warning. As the clap of sandals against the tissue road grew closer, he slipped backwards, trying to hide his yellow body in the darkness.

"Hm?" The child looked up and saw him, he was certain, because their eyes caught and held, and for a moment, he smiled. "You look like. . . a star!" He made an odd motion, and murmuring of a wish that Gelb couldn't hear, before he waves and leaves.

Crawling out of the corner, Gelb wonders what that was all about. It doesn't escape him that his hooves make the same clapping sound on the ground as the sandals, and he tries to mimic the child's steps.


	19. Again, Fiddle with your Rosaries

* * *

**Weasley and Hazz  
**

* * *

Weasley is so damn ecstatic about the whole thing that Hazz forgets to be subtle, forgets to be calm, and yells the truth out to the boy in a fit of anger. Weasley wasn't expecting it, and he looks down at the belly that he is still cradling in horror.

"I don't want to die." He whispers, and sounds every bit like the child that he is.

Hazz doesn't tell him that he doesn't want him to die either.

"I'm too young to die."

Hazz doesn't tell him that he couldn't agree more.

"Isn't there anything we can do?"

Hazz holds Weasley too him, regretting and wishing and praying and plotting.

"I dunno."

Hazz doesn't tell him that he has a plan.


	20. Why not bow your head with great respect

* * *

**Thrax and Vicadin  
**

* * *

Thomas, the great lumber oaf that he was, has no idea what happened inside of his body each day. All he knows is the aching of his joints and the pounding of his head.

He begins to take pills, little ones, like Amoxicillin and ibuprofen, Advil and Motrin (all of which has been a minor annoyance for Spanning and Thrax), before he finally moves in to the big leagues.

She thin – aneroxically so – and so white you could see clear through her. Thrax was the first one to stumble upon her, and from the careful slit of her eyes and the calculating smile on her face, he can't tell the difference between a virius and an addiction.

"You're new." He says it as though she doesn't know.

She flips back a stray piece of albino hair that it just as straight and narrow as she is. "The name's Hydrocordocine." She tells him, not bothering to ask his name in return.

"That's a real mouthful." He notes, just the same as he also notes that she's naked. He would offer her a coat, but the view is phenomenal and he never says that he's a gentleman.

"I suppose you can call me Vicadin." She shrugs.

"Vicki?"

"You're pushin' it, bub."


	21. To Genuflect! Genuflect! Genuflect!

* * *

**Lux witnesses the closing of the Cyst  
**

* * *

The night that the Dish opens, the cyst is empty. Everyone has gone there, not only because a fellow virus has opened it, and not only because nearly all of them have received personal invitations, but because the Cyst is getting old and tired, and it reminded them that they were getting old and tired.

Why hadn't Thomas O'Brian just died yet? Some of them, they knew, had been in the City of Thomas for well over thirty years, and still – nothing.

Lux sat alone in the Cyst, running an appreciative hand on the counter top. Sure, he grafitti'd, but he always did so in yellow. Weren't all geratrics prone to yellow spots? Sin, Thrax, Ebola, Salin, Black. . . they were some of the most potent viruses he knew, and yet Thomas, other than a few aches and pains, couldn't be healthier.

When did they stop caring? When did they stop trying? Was it that it was a hopeless cause, that Thomas was fated to be a carrier of every disease on the planet, his body some sort of museum of illness? Or was it that somewhere along the line, the nomadic viruses that lingered in his body had decided that they had gotten tired of killing and leaving. Was it that they had all gotten. . . attached?

"That'll cost you ten amino acids." The bartender tells him as Lux nurses the end of his drink.

Lux looks up, confused. "But I'm not done yet."

"I'm done. Closin' shop. Think I'll try a new body. . . maybe something in girl. Girl's love dance clubs, right?"

He'll be sure to ask Ach later.


	22. Make a Cross over your Abdomen

* * *

**Hazz and Weasley**

* * *

Hazz lets Weasley rummage threw his things, because he is adorable and there is something possessive in him that loves seeing the boy be possessive too.

"What's this?"

"A cigarette."

Positively adorable.

"What's this?"

"A nudie magazine."

He flips through it, and Hazz prides himself on his self control. He didn't even flinch, trying to jump him.

"What's this?"

Hazz turns an interesting shade of pink as Weasley tears open a condom wrapper, pulling on the elastic in confusion.

"A balloon." He lies and slinks closer.

"Why's it wet?"

"Spit. Thomas swallowed it." Another lie, another inch.

"Thomas did?"

"Yup." He grabs both of Weasley's hands, still gripping the condom, and pulls them a little apart. The boy is in his lap and looks utterly bewildered.

"Now you blow."

They both knew what he meant, and soon the condom was forgotten among his junk that was too old for Weasley anyway.


	23. When in Rome, do like a Roman

* * *

**Hazz and Thrax  
**

* * *

Hazz doesn't like it. He doesn't like it one bit. Everything inside of him is screaming to stop now, to turn back; everything except for one. . .

He remembers Weasley, and he remembers being inside of him, and he remembers that it's all his fault anyway, so he sucks it up and knocks.

Thrax isn't a morning person, so when he opens the door that clinks with the chain lock, Hazz isn't surprised that he's glaring.

"What!?" Thrax is trying to sound angry, but he's too tired to do a good job of it.

"I need your help."

"You need somebodies help." Thrax agrees, but opens the door.

Thrax closes the door behind him and Hazz is vaguely aware that this is the first time that he's been in this place. It's shabbier than he imagined it, and the lighten's poor, but somehow he always knew that Thrax wasn't one much for home furnishings.

Thrax offers Hazz a cigarette, and Hazz is too wound up to not accept it. "Weasley's pregnant." He blurts out as he's lighting it, and takes a long, shaky drag.

Thrax smirks. "Give my congratulations to the mommy."

Hazz wants to fight him, he really does, but he needs him and that nasty looking claw of his so he forces a smile and begs. "I'm going to save him." He swears. "But I'll need your help."

Hazz explains, and Thrax is too sadistic to say no.

Which is exactly what he was hoping for.


	24. Ave Maria

* * *

**Hazz and Vicodin; Thrax and Sin; Vicodin and Thrax.  
**

* * *

It's her first night in Thomas, so she supposes that maybe it wouldn't be too bad to take Thrax up on his offer to buy her a drink. It doesn't escape her attention about the way that he's holding her – just a little ahead, just a little to the side, so that everyone can see. Showcasing her, and she's not sure if she likes it or not, but she figures he's trying to get some girl jealous.

Or. . . guy.

"Name's Sin." The virus tells her just before he grabs Thrax's arm. "Talk to you for a minute?"

Left alone in this strange place, 'The Dish,' she walks up to the bar where a man who looks more like a gangster than a bartender is serving booze.

She always did get along so very well with alcohol. . .

The hair stands up on the back of her neck, and she turns around to glare at him. "What do you want, four eyes?" It'd be more of an insult if it wasn't true.

Hazz shrugs and takes the stool next to hers without asking. "Thrax brought you here, right?"

Her only response is another sip of her drink, which the barkeep (who, if he keeps refilling her drink is going to be her b-e-s-t friend) insists is on the house, since she's new and all.

"They always did fuck better when they were jealous." She coughs a little and turns to look at the two, who, sure enough, are preparing to leave the club.

"I guess we've both been used by them; what common grounds!" He's already drunk, so this is funnier than it should be. "What's your name?"

"Hydrocodone."

He stumbles over the word and she sighs. "Vicodin."

Something sharp and focused, even through the alcohol, takes hold of his eyes for a moment, and for another moment she is sure that he is about to ask her something.

"Vicki?"

She sighs. "Whatever." Followed by another long swig of whiskey, burning and hot. He's eyes are easy to read, and she's easy to tempt. "So, what'd you want?"

"Your help."


	25. Gee it's good to see 'ya

* * *

**Ach and Lux  
**

* * *

Lux doesn't find her until the morning, when he was on his way to see her anyways.

She's still naked, still bruised, lying on the ground with such glassy eyes that for a moment he's afraid that she's dead, and then he isn't sure what he would do anyways.

She turns her head and sees him, and smiles.

"Ach. . ." He whispers and rushes over, stripping off his hoody as he goes. He slips it over her head and before she has the chance to complain, he is craddling her in his arms, rocking her. She wonders for a moment who he is trying to comfort – her, or himself.

"I came looking for you last night." She confides, accepting the soothing hand that he runs through her dreadlocks.

"You shouldn't've."

She smiles and turns her cheek in to his chest, and wonders if he's as cold as she feels.

"But I was lonely. . ."

Where had that feeling gone? Cradled in his arms, she felt just fine. She didn't feel like an S T D, and she didn't feel like an outcast. Maybe it was because he was the same as her, but maybe. . .

"Take me home?"

They go back to his place, a dinky shack beneath a bridge that he built himself. She only goes back to the Spinal District once, to get her things.

He doesn't know how he managed to win her over, but he's holding her she tells him that she doesn't feel lonely anymore, so as long as she stays, he doesn't particularly care.


	26. Gettin' ecstatic and

* * *

**The Epidemic  
**

* * *

Gelb has a hoof in his ear and he's digging in deep, scratching and whining with exquisite pleasure. Vicki's chin rested in her palm and she considered for a moment offering him her assitance, but change her mind at the last moment. There were people around, and she had an image to uphold.

An image that would be in ransacks if Hazz were to have his way.

Mr. Black, whom she was looking forward to getting to know quite intimately if she could have her way, had closed the Dish down for the private meaning. It has been two days since Hazz asked her for her help – and, apparently, everyone else's too.

For viruses and bacteriums, plagues and disorders, they all seem to be relatively comfortable with eachother. Each was being, if not poliet, then at least respectful and she chewed on her straw, trying to shake the feeling that she was being left out.

Hazz explains the situation quickly, in layman's terms – the child that he accidently impregnanted, and his plan to stop it. Thrax's claws, which should have been used for causing choas and destruction, Sahbar's stitching skills for fixing the incision. Salin, who was soft and delicate, for plucking the embryo's from the child.

Her, for comfort.

"I'm not exactly what you would call a comforting person." She tells him, and gestures up and down herself. Her features are sharp and thin, giving her the appearance of a sharp blade. It is fitting; she certainly has a tongue like one.

"You're _vicodin_." Hazz reminds her, and she tells him that it doesn't mean anything. She tells him, but she knows what he really wants to hear. . .

"Sing us a lullaby?"

She glowers and coughs. It's her way of agreeing if the subject is never brought up again, take it or leave it.

"Good enough for me."


	27. Sorta' dramatic and

* * *

**Ebola and Salin  
**

* * *

Salin had been invited to the Dish, but he decides against it at the last moment. Everyone he knows seems to be going, so he has no doubt in his mind that Ebola is going to be there too.

He just can't deal with Ebola right now.

_Truth_. . . he had thought that they were playing, Ebola and him, and he thought for sure that, just like with every other girl, he was going to win. _Truth_. . . he had never thought that much of her, not really, only that she was a pretty one that he wanted to have a little fun with. _Truth_. . . it turned out she wasn't that much fun. _Truth_. . . she was down right addicting.

He smokes a cigarette, substituting long drags of the smoke for long tastes of her, because one addiction should have been as good as the other, but the _truth _was that nothing was as good as she was.

"Salin?"

He starts so hard that he loses his cigarette and the ember's glow, even from the ground, catch the deep blue of her eyes and he can see his reflection in them.

He's never looked worse.

She reaches in to her pocket and pulls out a pack of cigarettes, even though he knows that she doesn't smoke. "You weren't at the meeting."

"You were."

She nodds. "Hazz is going to be a daddy."

"Hn. . ."

The sadness in her eyes is something powerful, and he is being touched through her. His reflection in her eyes that he hates is drowning now, fighting to breath against her tears. "He needs you."

_I need you._

Salin doesn't need to be told twice, because he thinks he needs her too.


	28. Doin' the Vatican Rag!

* * *

**Finale  
**

* * *

By all accounts, the viruses should have been dead. Weasley should have been dead. Hazz, in his misery, should have been dead too.

All accounts, though, didn't account for the fact that the operation had been successful – that Thrax's claw had been able to slice through his stomach, that Salin's gentle touch had been able to remove the embryo, that Sahbar, with his knowledge of bondage and ties had been able to piece Weasley back together again. That Vicki, with her quiet and comforting croons, had managed to keep them all sane the last few hours.

It shouldn't have been possible.

But Weasley is sleeping, recovering, and Hazz is rocking the twins in the room over. They would want to be feed soon – never before had anyone ever heard of viruses being able to survive without living off of the flesh of their mother, but Hazz would find a way.

After all, no one had ever heard of the mother surviving child birth, either.

"Hazz?" Sin calls out to him from the room over. His head pokes around the corner, and Hazz scowls. The babies are asleep, he mouths.

"Weasley's awake. He wants to see them."

Hazz nodds, stands, and enters the room. Weasley had tears in his eyes – the silly boy hadn't though it was possible, but then again, neither had Hazz.

"Hey mommy." Hazz kisses Weasley on the head and hands over one of the two viruses.

It shouldn't have been possible.

But Hazz wasn't going to complain.


End file.
